Time After Time
by imightbejoking
Summary: Tony doesn't like the fact that Shield has been treating a prisoner as badly as they have, even if they aren't from Earth. I still suck at summaries, sorry. Slight descriptions of torture. No slash, just bromance, angst, and fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 **A/N:** First of all, if you're reading this, thank you. This is my first fanfiction that will contain for than one chapter. I do not have a lot of experience in writing these yet, which you can probably tell, so if you have any suggestions or critiques I would love to hear them! I will try to post at least one chapter a week, but I make no promises. Thank you again, now enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own or pretend to own any marvel characters, and I do not make a profit from this story.

* * *

 _Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,_ _  
_ _And think of you_ _  
_ _Caught up in circles confusion-_ _  
_ _Is nothing new_ _  
_ _Flashback-warm nights-_ _  
_ _Almost left behind_ _  
_ _Suitcases of memories,_ _  
_ _Time after-_

The files flash, one by one, on the screen. Pages and pages of secrets, ones that, considering their importance, weren't very difficult to hijack.

At least, not for Tony Stark.

Tony has been called a lot of things: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Of course, there were also the more… _well known_ nicknames.

Iron man. Merchant of death. Although, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to get people to forget that last one.

But let's focus on the _genius_ aspect of Tony, for now at least.

It was almost two days ago that it had been brought to his attention that weapons shipments were mysteriously disappearing. Around the same time that a particular shipment would go missing, an anonymous donation for around the worth of the lost weapons would be added to Shield's private finances.

Obviously not so private that he had any trouble getting in.

Scrolling through the files that have already downloaded, he clicks a random one, pulling a long sip from his glass of scotch, and savoring the way it burns going down.

He doesn't exactly care for the way it feels coming back up, though, and unfortunately he experiences it firsthand as soon as the file finishes opening.

The first image that pops up is enough to make anyone choke with a mixture of disgust and sympathy.

If he's being honest, it was mostly disgust.

A figure, stained brown and red, is lying in a circular cell with walls of mirrors. Their arms and legs are bent at unnatural angles, and, upon further inspection, all ten fingers are bent backwards at their middle joint, rather than being curled halfway into a fist, as it appears at first glance.

The position reminds Tony of a spider that has been crushed under a shoe: all backwards angles and indistinct shapes.

Before he knew exactly what it was that he was planning on doing, his suit was on and he was on the roof, checking the location the picture was downloaded from. Because if he didn't put himself in danger to save the lives of complete strangers, what kind of superhero would he be? Even if they _were_ a criminal, nobody deserved that kind of treatment.

It was actually surprisingly easy to get into Shield headquarters, and it wasn't much harder to find the cell in the picture. After all, he was Iron Man. He wasn't going to be refused access to criminal, as if he was going to do something stupid like rescue them.

Oh, right…

Shaking himself out of his internal monologue, he realizes he's standing in front of a cell with a sign labeling it "Top Priority".

For such an important prisoner, the Director was pretty lax on security. Or maybe they were just so incapacitated that Shield knew they weren't a threat.

Either way, he turned to face the unguarded cell before considering his options.

Option a) blow the door off its hinges, grab the prisoner, and get out. Unfortunately, he didn't know how much power would be needed to dispose of the barrier without hurting whoever was inside.

Option b) find Fury, demand to know who was in this cell, and what reason they had to treat human beings like they weren't…well… _human beings._ Of course, that would alert them to the fact that he had been snooping through their private files, and they would probably put up a stronger firewall. No more looking through top-secret Shield files without permission.

"Not an option," Tony heard himself mumble out loud in response to his own thoughts.

Now that he thought about it, he realized he hadn't planned past option b. Shit.

 _Okay,_ Tony's thoughts seem to organize themselves without him, _this isn't that hard. Just think. Okay, so, no blowing up doors, no confronting suspicious authority figures. Those can't be the only two possible ways to go about this._ Scanning the cell door, Jarvis informs him of the weaker metal used in the hinges and lock mechanisms along the outer rim. _I can work with this. Okay. Let's go._

Holding his arm out and aiming with excruciating precision, even though if he was being honest, he wasn't doing any of the aiming.

Five minutes and an Iron Man-sized rectangle in the cell door later, Tony is stepping through the hole lasered ( _is that a word? Probably not_ ) by the suit, avoiding the still red-hot edges where they glowed menacingly.

"Stark, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you whatthe fuck you think it is that you are doing, exactly." The all-too-familiar voice bounced off the mirrors, echoing and giving Tony _multiple_ chances to listen to just how _un-_ afraid it was.

Like all sarcastic idiots with, apparently, death wishes, Tony answered with an equally biting tone.

"Why don't you tell me why a prisoner is being tortured to the edge of dying, when there are laws against exactly that? You do realize that the only reason I contribute my money and efforts to Shield is because they're the good guys, right? You might want to consider that before you do shit like not be." Okay, so it may have gone a little downhill with the last bit, but overall it wasn't terrible.

With an exasperated roll of his eyes (or, _eye_ , singular, I guess), Director Fury opens his mouth as if to continue speaking, but Tony (being an idiot with a death wish) raises a repulsor-armed hand in an unmistakable threat, saying, without actually saying anything, obviously: _I swear to god, Fury, if you open your mouth one more fucking time I will end you._

Or, at least that what he _means._ Fury, on the other hand, ignores it with a long-suffering sigh, and continues speaking.

"Actually, there are only laws against such methods of torture towards human, or I suppose, _Midguardian,_ prisoners. This man is most definitely _not_ human. Perhaps if he were, Shield wouldn't _need_ your efforts. We most certainly don't need your _money_ anymore. Most of our funds are now being supplied from anonymous benefactors, so yours are no longer needed."

That made Tony drop his arm.

"Wait. No…this…this is Loki?" He gestures behind him, not bothering to mask the confusion in his eyes. "I thought Thor had taken him back to Asgard, after…after New York?"

"Of course you didn't know. You don't have the clearance level _required_ to have information on or access to the prisoners. You shouldn't be down here, and let's not even _pretend_ that you would have been able to get in and get out with an A-list criminal. You and I both that your suit is just glorified armor, even if it does come with a few perks," Fury scoffs. That alone made Tony more determined to rescue Loki; if only to rub it in Fury's face that his cells _weren't_ impenetrable.

Again, he raises his arm, and this time, he actually fires. It isn't charged enough to kill or severely injure, but Fury should be out cold for enough time to grab Loki and leave.

After hearing the satisfying _thunk_ of Fury hitting the wall, Tony turns back around to face the scene. It was even more horrific in person, and that was _with_ the suit filtering out the smell of blood, shit, and dirt. Even so, there was a hint of it in the air inside the suit.

"Okay, Lokes. Let's get you out of here," muttering softly, Tony bends over to lift the broken god off of the stained floor, hesitating for only a second before holding him bridal style and walking as quickly as he could out of the compound without jostling him too much.

He was doing the right thing, Tony knew. Yes, Loki had done horrible things, and he never seemed to feel guilty or regret anything he had done. But when Tony had talked to him in his mansion all those years ago (had it really been five years since the attack on New York?), he had seen something in his eyes. At the time, he had passed it off as insanity, lust for power, or maybe, maybe, desperation.

Unfortunately, Tony had had lots of time to mull it over during sleepless nights in the months that followed (the one pro of insomnia), and he realized that he had seen that same look before; the chaotic gleam in Loki's eye that could be so easily be confused with any of the other emotions that had been apparent in his face.

It had been unnerving, seeing the master of hiding his expressions so exposed; so vulnerable. Of course, he hadn't seemed _nearly_ as vulnerable as he was now, limp in Tony's arms with no control over himself or what happens to him.

At first, he hadn't been able to place where he had seen it before, but then he remembered the way his mother had looked so helpless whenever Howard came home drunk, rambling about Captain America and collapsing on the piece of furniture nearest the front door.

That was what it had been: yes, there _had_ been a _bit_ of desperation as well, but it had been a cry for help. Maybe he _had_ been in control, maybe he hadn't. Either way, Tony knew that he needed help, both mentally _and_ physically, thanks to Shield and their _fucking loopholes._

By the time he finished the train of thought, he realized he was outside and already in the air. Had nobody been sent after them? Unlikely. More likely was that they were luring him into a false sense of security (ironic, given the state of theirs), waiting until he let his guard own, and then they would swoop in and grab both him _and_ Loki.

 _Don't think about that now._ He mentally scolds himself. _Right now, you need to help Loki. You can worry everything else later._

Landing on the roof was much harder than Tony made it look. Loki's extra weight, which was, admittedly, not much, threw off his balance and almost tipped him over as he slowed the repulsors on his feet. It didn't help matters that he had both arms occupied by the unconscious god.

After setting Loki down on the closest couch and removing the suit, Tony scoops him up again and carries him to the only guestroom on that floor without mirrors. He knew after being in that cell for just five minutes that they would have had a large effect on the god, and he likely would never be able to look at one again without being threatened with a panic attack.

He still felt that way when he felt any moisture on his face. Waterboarding has some pretty long-term effects, in terms of PTSD.

His attention was brought back to Loki when he frowned in his sleep, furrows forming between his eyebrows before giving way to an expression of disbelief and fear.

"No…what…what are you…no…stop… _please..._ Thor?" the words escaped, halfway formed, from the god's lips. His body begins shaking; huge, shuddering convulsions that make Tony want to set him down, back away, and call a doctor.

Instead, he steps into the bathtub, laying Loki down the length of the tub and sits behind his head, supporting it on his lap.

After a moment of brief consideration, Tony leans over and pulls off the god's begrimed shirt, pausing for only a second to stare at the countless scars, both old and fresh, that gathered on his chest.

"What did they do to you, Lokes?" he murmurs softly, bringing a hand to cover his mouth. Some of the newer ones looked only weeks old, and considering the Asgardian's accelerated recovery, that meant they were likely even newer.

Blood stains most of his chest, along with the various spatters of dirt, and makes it difficult to tell where exactly he is still bleeding. Tony swallows and leans farther down to tug on Loki's pants.

"Who are…Stark? What are… what are you doing?" his whisper is feverish, but he is already attempting to pull away, curling in on himself in a way that couldn't _possibly_ be good for the wounds just closing up on his chest. The position gave Tony a good look at his back, though, and he almost vomited at the sight. Lash marks were covering Loki's back, most scabbed over and mostly healed, but some swollen and purplish yellow.

An infection, then. And from the looks of it, a pretty serious one.

After he stops squirming, Tony straightens Loki out again and continues removing his pants. It wasn't very difficult, as they were several sizes too big due to lack of proper nutrition. Eyeing his pale form, Tony wonders if they ever fed Loki at _all_ while holding him down there. Something tells him he doesn't want to know.

By the time he finishes scrubbing Loki's form clean of several years' worth of blood and grime, it has been hours since they first got in the bath. They water is opaque and glistening a threatening shade of brownish-black, and tony lifts the limp body up and into a dry towel, ignoring his…er…more _private_ regions.

Laying Loki, now dressed in a pair of Iron Man pajamas and bandages dressing his wounds, down on the bed, Tony collapses into the chair in the corner and glances around before sighing one last time and tucking in the God of Lies.

"Goodnight Lokes. You're safe now." Walking out of the room with a sad smile, Tony wonders vaguely how Pepper would react to the new houseguest.

Not well, he decides, stumbling to his own shower and turning it to the hottest setting. Not well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 **A/N:** You don't need to read the note if you don't want to; just skip to the story if you feel like it.

Once again, if you take the time to read this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. That was cheesy, but you know what I mean. I honestly am surprised that anyone _does_ want to continue reading this, just because I feel like the way my writing reads is kind of weird (I'm working on it. Bear with me). But I do love it when someone likes reading something I wrote :). I know this chapter is really short, but the upcoming ones should be much longer. Like, _much_ longer. Sorry if this note is too long, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Also, I noticed that I spelled 'Midgard' wrong in the previous chapter, and I am acknowledging it here instead of going back and fixing it. I know, I'm lazy. Don't judge me.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any Marvel characters, and I do not make a profit from this story.

I forgot this last chapter, but this story (loosely) based on the song _Time After Time_ by Cyndi Lauper. I don't own it. Carry on.

* * *

 _Sometimes you picture me-_  
 _I'm walking too far ahead_  
 _You're calling to me, I can't hear_  
 _What you've said-_  
 _Then you say-go slow-_  
 _I fall behind-_  
 _The second hand unwinds_

The first thing Loki notices when he blinks his eyes open, the dim light blinding him for a moment, is that he is in a bed. A bed, with blankets and pillows and a _mattress_. How long had it been since he had slept on one? How long had he been Shield's prisoner? Hours? Days? Months?

He didn't know. All of his other senses had left him when the pain had started.

He hadn't expected it to hurt that much. He hadn't expected it to hurt at all, really. He had been expecting- well, it doesn't matter what he had been expecting. Not now, anyway.

He feels the bruises around his neck even before his fingers touch them of their own accord. _Stop. You can't afford to think about that right now._ But the memories are already coming back, his eyes closing in attempt to ward them off. It doesn't work.

 _Hands. Hands everywhere. No. Not again. No more. Please, please let it stop. Make it stop. It_ hurts, _why won't it stop? It was supposed to stop. It was supposed to stop but it wasn't and they were_ hurting _him and why wasn't Thor there? Why wasn't Thor saving him? He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. He didn't feel anything anymore. And then he did._

A scream shatters the silence. _Was that me?_ He didn't think it was, but who else could it be? All he knew was that he _couldn't do this again._ He would _die_ before he let them touch him; let them _hurt_ him, again.

 _But it isn't your choice, is it?_

A sob escapes his lips, and suddenly there are hands. There are hands, but they aren't hurting. They are stroking his face, wiping his tears, smoothing his hair where it stuck to his forehead with sweat. It didn't matter though, because they _would_ hurt. They might not now, but eventually they would hit and cut and _take._

But Loki wouldn't let them.

So he pushes and scratches and bites, anything to make sure that he would be safe. They would never hurt him again.

When the outburst is over, his eyes still tightly shut, he feels himself drift back to sleep. He doesn't even have enough energy left to react when a soft blanket is pulled up around his shuddering body, or to the murmured, "Goodnight, Lokes," that follows.

He does hear it, though.

* * *

This time, the sky is dark when Loki wakes, the moonlight barely shining through the thick gathering of clouds in the sky. He involuntarily shivers when thunder booms, breaking the steady pounding of rain on the window.

Slowly, he moves to the edge of the bed, wincing when the pillows rub against the welts peppering his back. Those would be difficult to heal.

But not now. Now, he would focus on resting and building his magic back up. Currently, he could barely feel miniscule tendrils where before his imprisonment there were vast reserves. The fact that he was so drained suggested that it had been far longer than Loki had guessed since its last use. Now, he wondered if a few _years_ passed, perhaps more. That was unfortunate.

Unfortunate, but not impossible to work with. As long as he was in the right environment, it should only take a few months, a bit less than a year at the longest, to gather enough energy to teleport somewhere he knew he would be safe.

But he had recognized the voice from before. He was in Tony Stark's home. And considering the events that had transpired during his last visit here, it would notbe the right environment.

And it would be nowhere near safe.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 **A/N:** I am so sorry that it has taken me this long to update. Not going to make any excuses, but it was a mixture of writer's block, no time, and pure laziness. This chapter is the result of basically two and a half months' worth of tiny additions and deletions. Please don't judge for how bad it is. It is difficult to force out good (or, in this case, bad) writing with no inspiration. I hope you enjoy the chapter :) Or at least don't hate it :)

 **Disclaimer:** I think it's pretty obvious by now that I own nothing Marvel.

* * *

 _If you're lost you can look and you will find me  
Time after time  
If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting  
Time after time_

 _One night of sleep. That's all I want. Just one night of dreamless, peaceful, sleep._ Tony groans inwardly at the first crash of thunder outside the mansion. No doubt Thor had been notified of his brother's disappearance. That was one family feud he _really_ didn't want to get involved with.

 _Too late._ Smothering a yawn, Tony swings his legs over the side of the bed, stretching as he makes his way to the bedroom door. It creaks gently as he pulls it open, and he makes a mental note to get that fixed.

He silently congratulates himself for not jumping at the sight of Loki's slim (understatement of the year) frame sitting straight up on a couch, watching him with sharp eyes. After a few moments of silence, Tony speaks first.

"So," he starts, almost wincing at the exhaustion evident in his voice, "You're up already."

No reaction.

"That's pretty impressive. I mean, I knew you Asgardians were fast healers, but come on. It's been three days."

Tony barely has time to blink before the Loki is off of the couch and standing in front of him. Despite the malnourishment, Loki moves inhumanly fast and has Tony pinned to the wall by his throat in seconds.

"I don't know what you think you are doing, Stark, but if you think that I will allow myself to be recaptured so easily, you are mistaken," The words are a sharp hiss, and Loki's voice is rough with disuse, but he still successfully scares the shit out of Tony. After releasing the shorter man, Loki returns to his seat on the couch, missing the faux unimpressed look Stark sends him.

Really, you rescue someone from torture, and all you get in thanks is a vague threat and some light bruising? What was the world coming to?

After a few more minutes of silence, Tony abandons his attempts to get Loki to respond (without threatening his life, of course). He doesn't try to mask his sigh, making his way to the counter where Jarvis (thank _god_ ) has already started the coffee maker. Tony had no idea how to handle this situation. He _really_ hadn't thought this through. And why the hell hadn't Jarvis notified him when Loki had gotten up?

After about ten more minutes of Tony trying not to feel too awkward as Loki watches him drink his coffee, the god finally says something.

"Did SHIELD decide to move me to another cell? Because, in all honesty, this truly would be far more torturous than anything they managed to do to me at the original." his tone is suspicious, if weak, and his expression matches perfectly. The attempted jab at Tony does nothing to discourage him though, and he notes the way Loki winces every time Tony moves unexpectedly.

Tony shrugs, placing his coffee down on the counter and making his way next to Loki on the couch. His reaction is immediate, muscles tensing and pulling away from the approaching man.

"Listen, Loki. You aren't in danger here. You're safe." Tony hesitates, knowing that physical contact was not going to help the guy right now, "I know it's been a while, and you don't exactly have fond memories of the place, but right now the tower is your best bet." Tony sighs again and moves to the chair opposite Loki when he makes no move to relax. His eyes follow Tony the whole time, no movements going unnoticed.

"I know you don't believe me, and I wouldn't either if I was in your position. But, you can trust that I won't let those assholes get you again. Even if you don't, you're still better off here than in a cell, waiting for your next beating." Loki visibly stiffens, and if looks could kill, Tony would have died a million times over by now.

After a few more minutes of the two studying each other, Tony stands up and moves to go downstairs to his workshop. Before he enters the elevator, he looks over his shoulder and meets Loki's cautious stare once again.

"I'm trying to help you, Loki. What SHIELD did to you wasn't right. I'll do everything I can to help you, so take as much time as you need to get …situated," He steps through the doors as the elevator dings, facing the room one more time before they slide closed, "I'll be in my workshop if you need me. Ask Jarvis if you need to find anything or want to look around."

With that, the elevator doors slide closed, covering Stark, and leaving Loki alone in the penthouse.

"Who is Jarvis?" he wonders aloud, deciding to wait before thinking over the rest of the information Stark had provided- or, in some cases, implied. He wasn't prepared for the accented voice, projected from an implacable source somewhere above him. And below him. If asked, he will deny having jumped a foot off of the couch at Jarvis' first greeting. Jarvis, however, will not.

* * *

Okay, so, maybe Loki had fallen asleep on the couch. In his enemy's home. Without first finding a weapon to protect himself with. Maybe. And, maybe, he had found sleeping in the open space preferable to the enclosed room he had woken up in. So, maybe, he continues to sleep there for the next few nights as he gets _situated_ , as Stark had phrased it.

And, maybe, when he woke up, his immediate thoughts weren't _I need to get out of here_ or even _now is my chance to get my revenge on Stark_. Maybe they were more along the lines of _what is that smell coming from?_ and _I want it._

As it turned out, Stark had made pancakes (what pancakes were, exactly, Loki didn't know. Or care, for that matter. They smelled good, though).

"You've really never had pancakes before?" Loki answered Starks's disbelieving stare with an unimpressed- and still slightly (extremely) suspicious- look.

"I don't see why it matters. It is food. Cooked by my enemy. Why should I trust that you have not poisoned it?" He knew it wasn't poisoned, of course. If the Avengers and SHIELD wanted him dead, they would have finished him off in the cell. That sparked an interesting question though, and Loki spoke again, ignoring the amused smirk Stark sent in his direction.

"Why did you help me?" The two of them had reached a silent compromise, where they both avoid talking about their feelings and the obvious questions (okay, so not so much a compromise as they were both dancing around important subjects. Whatever), but Loki needed answers, and Stark was going to give them to him.

Loki had decided that there were no immediate dangers waiting for him in the tower, and anything _was_ better than the cell. Speaking of which, the first thing he had eaten since he had been taken by SHIELD had been pancakes (which Stark had made the morning after their 'confrontation'), so maybe he was already partial to the meal. Apparently, they had been informed of the fact that starving him would not kill him.

Also, _pancakes_. Delicious. Stark wasn't _quite_ as incompetent as one would think.

He still didn't trust him.

After two days, Stark had explained that nobody had been aware of his imprisonment and that he had come and freed him as soon as he learned of it. He still didn't understand why, though.

"Because it's not _right,_ Loki. It isn't _okay_ for someone to be treated like that. There are such things as human rights, you know." Stark seemed so enraged on his behalf that Loki ignored the urge to point to point out that he was not, in fact, human.

While Loki still didn't understand why that would compel someone to rescue their enemy, he nodded and took another bite of his breakfast. He had another question.

"Where are your teammates?" Loki saw Stark's reaction immediately, every muscle tensing and relaxing as he tried to hide it. Dead, perhaps?

"We… um… We're not really teammates, anymore. Those of us that are still around, I mean," At Loki's questioning look, he adds, "No, no, nobody's dead. Just- um… yeah. Nobody's dead."

"That was the poorest attempt to avoid a subject I have ever had the misfortune to witness. Honestly, Stark, weren't you the _intelligent_ one the last I was here? What on Asgard _happened_? Sad, really. How the mighty have fallen…" Loki deadpans, staring wistfully into middle distance. Just as he's about to take another bite of his breakfast, a whole pancake makes contact with his face, sticking for all of two seconds before sliding down and falling into his plate.

It had been two weeks since Loki's arrival, and the two had fallen into a sort of comfortable acquaintanceship- not friendship; they were many things, but they were _not_ friends. Not yet, anyway.

"Stark- really? Must you behave as a child? Were you raised by wolves for Odin's sake- no, I will not throw a pancake at you. Because I am not a barbarian, that's why! No, Stark, stop it. Ack- all right, fine. Do not complain when I win, though. Stark, stop aiming at my nose. Stark- no. Don't you dare. Ton- Stark. That's it. I'm leaving. Enjoy cleaning this up by yourself."

Hiding a grin by stuffing a pancake into his mouth, Tony chucks one last pastry at the god's retreating form. The indignant yell is completely worth the glare that follows.

* * *

The two had developed a habit of playing board games (usually Risk or Quirkle) until they both passed out on their respective couches. It might not have been the _healthiest_ coping method, but there were only so many times Jarvis could remind them to go to sleep at a reasonable hour.

"QUIRKLE!" Tony yelled, standing quickly and making his way to the kitchen, where he pulled out a box of pancake mix and started making breakfast (breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? Who knows).

Their meal of pancakes and pumpkin spice ice cream (Pepper stocked up on it- don't ask) is interrupted by Jarvis informing them of Bruce Banner's presence in the elevator.

"What?" Stark's voice is small, disbelieving, and he freezes just as he is about to eat his last bite of ice cream. Loki can't help but want to reach out to him, despite his hesitance at even remaining in the same building as him and not knowing what had happened to Banner to make his visit such a big deal. He doesn't, though.

"Doctor Banner is currently in the elevator, on the way to this floor. I believe he wishes to speak with you, Sir." Jarvis announces, voice crisp and to the point, as always.

"Wait, what do you _mean_ you 'saved' Loki from SHIELD?" Bruce made air quotes on the word saved.

It had been two hours of explanations, and he still had no idea what was going on. He had expected to come home to the tower, see Tony and possible the other Avengers, and promptly pass out in a familiar setting for the first time since Sokovia. Apparently, the universe had other plans for him.

"Exactly what it sounds like. You should have seen the pictures, Bruce. I couldn't just leave him there."

"Okay." He ran a tired hand over his face. He was too sleep deprived to be dealing with this right now. "And what about the others? What happened to them?"

"…You might want to get comfortable, Bruce. This will take a while."

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter makes absolutely no sense to me, to be honest. I kinda just set my hands down on the keyboard and hoped words would show up. In case you couldn't tell, _Thor: Ragnarok_ did not happen in this fic. I'll try to have a chapter up sooner next time, but no promises ;).


	4. NOT A CHAPTER

Jesus. Has it been a year yet? I am so, _so_ sorry to everyone who (for some inconceivable reason) followed this and genuinely wanted more content. (I, for the record, after rereading this, have absolutely no idea _why_ anyone did, but hey. I don't judge.)

I pretty much completely fell out of the fandom for a very long time, then got back in enough to _read_ fics but not want to write them, and now I'm just looking at memes. (The circle of fandom life).

Anyway, I'm hesitant to say that I will _n_ _ever_ update this again, but if I do it will be in a while, and definitely a _complete_ rewrite of the current chapters and plot line. (Seriously, what was I thinking? This is terrible)

If you want, feel free to request a one-shot for any fandom I'm in. (Honestly, there are too many for it to be efficient to list, but just let me know what you want it to be about and what the fandom is and I'll let you know if I'm in it). I'm not saying they'll be _good_ , but it's a free one-shot and I need more practice, so. Whatever.

tldr: I'm sorry for abandoning you guys, I might be rewriting this eventually, and free fics!


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